Face The Music
by Lina-the-dEmEnTeD AUTHOR
Summary: Gravedale High ficcage:Max and his students make productive use of an otherwise dull snow-day, and learn to waltz. With Vinnie Stoker leading, who knows what may come from this learning experience. Veggie. Slash
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi kids. It's your friendly neighborhood Lina again! I bear good tidings of early 90's cartoon slash Fanfiction. M/M and I don't mean the candy that melts in your mouth and not in your hand...tehehehehehe...

Yea well P.S. I didn't intend on making more than one chapter, but I'm sick of looking at a mass of words. **IT'S HUGE!! LEIK 400 BEH-BAIES!**

Also P.P.S. most of this chapter involves introducing the characters that no one can remember unless they watch all 13 fun filled episodes of Gravedale High. I hate formalities.

P.P.P.S. Once again the chapter to follow will be lightly peppered with slash, involving a teenage vampire and a wolf boy. It is called Vinnie/Reggie.

Or alternatively Veggie. Rock on and brush after every meal.

So if your not looking forward to seeing that, and I can't stress this enough, please press backspace.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravedale High nor do I gain any material wealth from using the characters from the show. I smell.**

**Rick Moranis in Gravedale High (c) Hanna-Barbera**

**Face the Music: Chapter 1**

The shaking of a chalk board, wheeled haphazardly against the grainy filth ridden gymnasium floor, awoke the snoozing majority of the students in Max Schneider's class from their pre-lesson naps. He smiled inwardly, adjusting the legs supporting the board, pleased he didn't have to resort to the air horn anymore.

Nearly a full year had passed since attaining employment as a teacher of a private High School. He recalled his acceptance, the word echoing sweet honeyed nothings into his ear.

_Private._

The dream position of educators everywhere. But more importantly, unlike those sharing his profession, his main concern was reaching out to his students, and cobbling their own unique paths, stone by stone. Rather than the common and vapid concentration on a high paying salary, or whether or not he was teaching in a "good neighborhood".

...However, the latter portion of his philosophy, he had considered editing, after taking that first foreboding step into Gravedale High School for Monsters.

Had he known he was the only human being amidst a sea of ghouls, and bug-a-boos from every scant ripple of the imagination, he wouldn't have dreamed of taking a teaching job, let alone coming within a 100 mile radius of the property.

...However, more importantly, had he known the truth of the school, he would have never met any of the students, he had worked so hard to guide and mold into young adults, and whom had come to care for, as if they were his own children.

"Sorry about the delay guys. The wind out there is merciless." he said, pulling his attendance sheet from his bag dusting off any traces of ice or snow from his shoulders.

Who knew that swamp snow was so biting and sharp come winter? Who knew it snowed in swamp filled regions?

Though, the bog surrounding the literally haunted premises had always been subject to baffling weather conditions. The slivers of icy, dingy snow were nothing compared to the bouts of raining frogs the residents experienced once every spring or so.

The shuffling of headphones lain around necks, and wads of revolting, questionable black gum stamped to the bottoms of seats echoed the gym, while Max marked the boxes adjourning names. He opposed the peskiness of the attendance form, as the "problem" classes were relatively small, and he knew each face and person by heart, whether scaly, pallorous, decayed, furry or otherwise (This was true in the case of Sid, his invisible class clown).

Plus, the student population was quite small, reflecting the monster:mortal ratio in the known world. His same students, despite their promotion to the next grade (...miraculously...) returned to him, and would till graduation. Hopefully the faculty would take him a bit more seriously, and give him a few more pupils to educate.

"Blanche. Cleo. Duzer. Frankentyke. Gill. J.P. Sid. Vinnie...okay tha-" Max halted in mid sentence, realizing his perpetually punctual teacher's pet was not accounted for.

"Has anyone seen Reggie?" Mr. Schneider asked, perplexed, as the teenage werewolf never missed a single class. Reggie's overzealous craving for knowledge had nearly put him in intensive care, when attending class with a fever a few months back.

"Yo teacher dude," called out surf enthusiast swamp monster Gill. "Like, Reggie's laptop totally did a face plant this morning, and he said he'll be tardy."

Beach-bum Gill Waterman occupied the room neighboring Reggie's in the Boys wing of the school's dormitory. He was more often found sleeping under the murky depths of the school's pool. The trail of mud, residue and under water flora found in the hallway, usually indicated whether Gill was in his room or not. With the land submerged in it's brutal winter season, and most bodies of water frozen over, or simply uninhabitable, the amphibious boy blasphemed the bogus idea of hibernation. The solution: he bought a kiddie pool for his room, bundled up heavily, and took up snow boarding.

"Well...so long as he has an excuse." Mr. Schneider replied, folding his sheet into his breast pocket.

"Aw man, I get yelled at ever time I'm late " moaned the re-animated youth Frankentyke.

"Frankentyke, that's because your always late." answered the teacher, fumbling through his briefcase.

"Hey not ALL the time " which was indeed true. The misfit pest had indeed improved his study ethic, and his grades significantly over the months Max had taught him. A sure sign he was growing up or adapting to a safety-net survival method. Though facets of his curt qualities still lingered, made apparent by his inability to end his tirade. "Wolf-boy probably just decided to _sleeeep_ in an- OW " Frankentyke was abruptly cut short by a soft bop on the head.

He head spun 90 degrees, to glare oppositionally at whoever the wise guy was. He was met by a pair of stoic eyes, belonging to the owner of the binder that delivered the punishing blow to the head. Usually the sang-froid vampire fledgling enjoyed class upheaval, but even he had his limits, when it came to pointless banter. And anyway, Reggie suffered enough grief and stress as it was.

One soundless gesture of an eyebrow quirk was all Vinnie needed to subdue the green teen into returning his attention towards the chalkboard and educator in front, pouting into a slump. Being Mr. Cool did have its magical charm.

Flashing Vinnie a silent 'thank you' smile, he pulled a small boom-box and cassette tapes from his bag.

"So I suppose your all wondering why I've asked you all to meet in here in the Gym?" he innocently asked.

"Well duh. It's probably so we won't be stuck watching that lame educational film in the Mausoleum." theorized the gorgon Duzer. One of her pony-tailed snake heads hissed a low chuckle in agreement. Even the Grecian-born mythological monster wouldn't have found the slightest interest in **_"Ghosts of Vesuvius"_**. The dull documentary from the 70's was pulled from the dust caked vaults and played during snowstorms. Or whenever the Head Mistress Crone didn't feel up to polishing her menacing hand and greeting the blistering cold day. At that very moment, she was curled up by the fireplace, with a steaming mug of newts eyes, and a book of crime scene photos.

"Well yes," admitted Schneider bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet . "I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to further our cultural study of the Eighteenth Century Europe, and experience first-hand one of the most representational and famous aspects of the time period."

His class leaned forward in anticipation. Sid mock bite his white gloves. The aghast un-dead debutante, Blanche daintily held a hand to her heart (An organ that would have been trembling with excitement, had she had a pulse).

Max grasped the very top of the chalk board and spun it on it axis for some 4 seconds, as rapid as a game show prize wheel. The blur of stone grey finally slowed, revealing "The Waltz" scratched in bright yellow chalk on the opposing side of the board.

All three girls squealed excitedly, overshadowing the groans of the remaining male population of the class.

"So I'm guessing you three dance?" Max asked.

"Like a natural sir." Cleo stated proudly, hands resting on the soft curve of her hips. Over the year, she had transformed through stages of slimming down, and filling out, and was very pleased with the womanly physique that remained. No one would dare call her by her full name, Cleofatra, again. She had lost a negative title and gained a natural sense of self satisfaction.

Her very close friend "Beast", the dashingly handsome soap opera star of the monster world, whom she had enchanted with her candid, genuine sweetness, would have found her beautiful, no matter what form she had metamorphed into. The 20 something year old star, whom her father did not approve of (A perfectly good reason for the mummified girl to like Beast even more), had also taught the girl every twirl and step she knew.

Episode 86, Cleo recalled. While on the set, watching him rehearse, he was in need of a dance partner to help practice for the following taping.

"Oh Mistah Schneidah, I was primmed and polished to know various styles." gasped the breathless southern bell. "Too bad I nevah made it to the dance..." she concluded dreamily. Blanche's zombie state had never been fully discussed, nor inquired. Even the dead had their secrets, though some gossip mentioned foul-play, poison, and mysticism. However, despite an obscured past, life was a paper moon to the flighty coquette, as she looked with delight to the future. A carnival of blitheness, with hopes of an exciting experiences, a rich husband to boot.

The proud Duzer leaned back, basking in self-assuredness. Though she considered old world dancing kind of farty in comparison to the ballistic barrage of pop culture moves she knew by heart and the high paced swerves she loved, she still knew her way around a dance floor. Especially if it meant spinning giddily in fabulously painful expensive shoes, showing off at the prom, or dancing with a cute hunk (namely a certain blood-drinking rebel).

"J.P. surely a man of your calibuh muuust know how to dance." Blanche innocently presumed, twirling a black lock of hair around her pinky.

"Hmmm let me think...uhhh-NO. I'm waaay to monetarily comfortable to break a sweat tiptoing around like an idiot." the heir grumbled, ignoring Blanche's batting eyelashes and imploring smile. Wishing to hear no more of his crassness, she huffed. With a turn of her nose upward, she refused to even spare a glance at the shorter teen. At least for a full ten minutes or so...

"Yeah Schneider. Whats the point anyways?" called out Frankentyke, watching his tone and volume, flinching at the thought of another binder assault.

"Aw c'mon guys level." Schneider reasoned. "You boys aren't even a little interested in a bit of cultural grooming?" A pair of clasped white gloves shook beneath his chin. He looked down to a pair of sunglasses pitifully looking up at him.

"Aww Mr. Schneider...Let me know you're up there. Come on. Love me, hate me, kill me, anything. Just let me know it " Sid cried out on his knees, clutching the edge of Max's shirt.

Max rolled his eyes, wondering just how many movie quotes and impressions Sid, his invisible student, would incorporate into himself before learning to write his own personality. Sure Sid had no problem performing in front of people, and boy did everyone know it. But it was that very need for an audience that wholly consumed the overlooked unseen student.

"What we have here class, is a failure to communicate." Max said blandly, brushing off the begging spectrum and straightening his tie. "I know with a guide you can do this Sid. In fact you may learn a few steps for your routine an-"

"Shhh. Nix Max baby, ya hear...Ixnayyy..." Sid whispered behind his glove, concealing an unapparent mouth. "Youz let de fellers know dat, an' you'll ruin my rep-ya-tation see... "

"Hey Schneider, I have an wild idea." Duzer finally spoke, innocently tracing tiny doughnut holes with her index finger across her desk. "Why not those of us able to dance, pair up with the rhythm-impaired?"

"Now that is constructive thinking Duzer. Okay, show of hands. Who can dance, even the smallest amount?" Max asked. Of course he was answered by three feminine hands in the front of the class, dainty fingers twitching in excitement.

'Tell me something I don't know', said the human to himself, calculating how they'd achieve, and distribute an even and leisurely lesson in the time given."Well...I guess we'll have to let everyone take-"

"Yo teach."

Every pair of eyes in the gym turned and widened as a white palm, was lazily tugged up into the air. Max removed and polished his glasses, in sheer disbelief. Either there was a smudge on his lenses, or his vampire student, infamous for his resilience and disinterest in his school career, was admitting to possess some knowledge of ballroom dancing.

"V-vinnie?" Max was answered with a sheepish, yet dignified shrug. Luckily the teacher was fluent in most languages, including anti-social teenese, and translated the gesture to a 'Why yes. Of course I can dance.'

Max broke out in a grin. "Get outta town, I never would have expected you-"

"Chill Schneider." the Vampire youth cut in, before the teacher excited himself into a coma. "Yea I can dance." he said without an ounce of fear of ridicule. Vinnie had learned the essence of his very coolness was not caring in what others thought, or busied themselves with. And his word was good. With such a demeanor he was heralded amongst the entire student population as a god among monsters.

Within the comfort of the stranded island that was his home-room class, he had learned to befriend and trust the few, rather than the masses of adoring fans. Outside, he was an untouched idol. Inside Max's class he was part of a solid community of people who understood him. Well...enough at least...

"Hawhaw...Thats rich man! Where'd yoooou learn to _da-ance_?" Frankentyke chided, wiggling his fingers to emphasize his obnoxious statement. Of course, the smaller boy was apt at taking the most difficult, strenuous road to learning, and was, yet again, met with a binder to the head. The lesson: Don't even think about picking on Vincent Stoker.

"Well you know..." the vamp drawled on casually, ignoring his green class mate, now rubbing an aching flat-top skull. "My folks wanted to show off to their friends how "cultured" I was at parties, so my mom taught me to dance."

His parents had met during the litany of violence produced by the French Revolution of the 18th century. Vinnie's mother, once a noblewoman of the court, was reduced to a starving fugitive, until she met the Count, Vinnie's father, who whisked her away to a lavish and immortal life. She was 22, he was pushing 186.

In vain she did her best to teach her son the finest Aristocratic etiquette. But he was victim to the modern age and was not in the slightest fascinated by the elite and snobbish manner of his coven. However, being the good son he was, he would humor his mother and make an appearance at banquets and masquerades. Delighting a lonesome baroness with a dance, sip a flute glass of blood or kissing a hand here and there. He chose not to disclosed these latter tidbits, unsure he'd ever be able to live them down.

Max clapped his palms and rubbed them together vigorously, now well armed for the battle plan. "OKAY! Everybody up. Dance teachers, choose your victims."

A green-black blur sped past the educator, colliding into the post-mortem posh teen.

"Ohhh Jaaaay Peeeee!" cooed Blanche, who crushed her dance-partner-to-be to her chest, like one of the many dried and shriveled roses, memoirs of past whimsies, cluttering her room. Likewise, J.P. wasn't too far from having the life squeezed out of him as well.

He was quite ready to shove the zombie off and tell her to hit the bricks, and do it by foot, like any other commoner-peasant...but...

...the fact that a beautiful and charming girl had him locked in her iron-maiden embrace, seemed to persuade him to drop his arms in apathetic defeat; he'd never stoop as low to tell her that he might enjoy it.

Duzer huffed. Some girls got all the luck. Even the hollow headed dixie-ditz. Nevertheless, like a predator surveying her menu, she decided her second choice would have to be Gill, or "Le Goon", as she so affectionately christened him.

"Hey Waterman!" she barked across the room to the runner up, currently guzzling a water bottle in one breath. "Aren't you gonna help your dance partner to her feet?" she innocently inquired, her wrist dangling helplessly from her outstretched arm.

"Oh yeah...um, like where is she?"

The snake headed girl waited patiently for Gill to notice her passive-aggressive "Your-joking-right" look. A stony stare that would turn any poor schmuck to stone. However, like her mother always said, "statues don't make lively dancers"...and anyway classical art bored her, so instead she took to drumming her fingertips.

"Oh-Ohhhhhh! Ch-yeah I knew that..." Gill said, mentally registering what 1+1 was equivalent to. He offered his arm to Duzer. She accepted with a sigh, formed by her wasted effort to dance with that hunky, brooding, rebellious_-Oh wow this guy REALLY works out! Geez his biceps are hu- wait! Whoa...Okayokayokay! Cool it Duz...down girl..._

All this time she never truly recognized the boy's- scratch that, the young man's more...becoming facets. Perhaps, thought Duzer, a muscle clad, beach-bum, him-bo wouldn't be so awful to dance with. She found herself making what was perhaps her eighth futile effort of the day. Trying, as best she could, in the name of Circe, to wipe the goofy grin from her face, as she ushered him to the center of the gym.

Meanwhile Cleo was escorting, or otherwise forcing Sid to his feet, spouting a plethora of restricted areas, and designations in which the invisible boy must keep his hands stationed. The teen then began mapping out ways to violate the rules. Life in unseen anonymity for the horny teen was good. Or so he dreamed.

"-Just remember, ten o'clock, two o'clock. I'll be sure to tell Beast if you try anything... funny...boy." Cleo stated, shaking her soft pigtails, leaving Sid to wonder if girls really did have telepathic abilities.

The wrath of the angry musclebound boyfriend did intimidate Sid. However like a kid in an elevator, he couldn't help but push buttons. And push buttons he would...

"Oh, vell dahling," he charmed in a fake accent, slinking an arm around the unamused Cleo's waist. "I'm sure he'll be mooore than happy to join us. Dah?"

Ignoring Sid moaning in immense pain, Max began unraveling the mass tumbleweed that was the stereo's extension cord to plug into the wall.

"Hey teach...we've eh hit a wall here."

Mr Schneider grimaced, forcing himself to turn, to behold the large problem. Well small technically. Small and terribly unpleasant. Loud and opinionated as well.

"No WAY man!"

Frankentyke, in his perpetual pout, bore holes into the ground with a death ray glare. Max had to admit he didn't blame Frankentyke for his embarrassment with his height. But J.P. was able to make due and is height just barely reached the bottom of Blanche's bust and- _ah._

It was THEN that Max finally rationed what 2-1 came to. Height played no part in THIS particular equation.

"C'mon and get with the century Frankentyke." Max optimistically reasoned, preparing a speech on sociology and gender roles "I mean we're all JUST FRIENDS here and really no one will judge-"

"Schneider. Dude or not," Frankentyke cut in "I'm not doing any dancing. I have two left feet."

Ohhh so this really wasn't about Frankentyke's discomfort about dancing with another male, Max concluded, sighing in relief. Pre-cautiousness was a big school theme this era, and it was silently beginning to project it's effect on him. Frankentyke was just embarrassed about dancing.

"Aw c'mon Frank, don't be sill-WHOAH!"

The green youth hopped out of his oversized high-tops, revealing literally two, count em', two left feet. Though somewhat desensitized by the morbidity and strange things he encountered at his job, Max never failed to be shocked at least once every week or so.

"Yeah, the right one got lobbed over spring break, an' I ran outta spare parts..." Frankentyke bragged, as if bored by his impressive battle scars and the tales literally etched into him. "Got in a fight with a tiger. I was gonna swipe his eye, but I felt sorry for the dweeb and decided to let him keep it."

"An...eye of a tiger?" asked Vinnie, exasperated, his palm alining a beeline to his forehead.

"Ch-yeah man. It was the thrill of the fight."

Palm-to-forehead sequence deployed.

In reality, Frankentyke had lost his foot to a motor boat's propeller, while scuba diving with Gill and the manatees of the Florida Everglades.(The fearless duo had confused the manatee's nickname "the sea-cow" with "the sea-bull", and assumed an underwater matador match would arise.)

Incidently Frankentyke was the one driving the boat, but the hell if he was gonna let anyone know that. That was about as likely as him ball-room dancing with Vinnie in drag.

"I guess that's a valid excuse from waltzing..." Max said, scratching his head. Frankentyke made an awful facial expression of mocking triumph, despite Vinnie's expressed disinterest. Truthfully, teaching daddy's-little-monster how to dance wasn't exactly what he called a treat. It was more relative to a humiliating babysitting job without pay.

"Okay Frankie, I guess you can help me DJ the stereo." the educator succeeded, draping the mass wires against the boy's frame, it's mass so dense it nearly knocked him down. Max had wanted all his students to participate, and participate they would. Unfortunately this dilemma left him one extra dancing instructor. "I'm sorry Vinnie, you'll still receive the credit even tho-"

He was halted mid sentence by the sudden gust of chilled air, and the bang of the closing gymnasium door.

Reggie, the person who entered, carried in with him evidence of the cold, an entourage of swirling flurries, passively floating to the ground, as the wolf-boy shook his head dry.

"-ough your dancing partner just waltzed in."

To be Continued...

Sorry to leave everyone on a cliff like that. Wait here, I'll go fetch us some ropes and perhaps soda. _**: Drives off into the night :**_


	2. Chapter 2: Get into Position

A/N: I finally got around to finishing. Allow me to just put down my glass of sangria and bowl of pitted date fruits...how I pamper myself...

Here is a quote I used to help establish an unspoken mood for my readers. Also because quotes iz vurry, vurry classy.

--

_I would believe only in a God that knows how to dance. _

_**Friedrich Nietzsche**_

Chapter 2: Get into Position by Facing your Partner

Unlike the graceful shower of crystalline snowflakes, dancing in jolly swirls to the gymnasium floor, Reggie was stiff and overwrought with stress.

Above all else he was _very very_ stressed. This showed significantly when the large gym door slammed behind him, causing him to visibly flinch at the ear-shattering bang. The teasing flurries ceased in their numbers, then vanished entirely.

Though only in his Junior year of High School, the lycan had been making lucrative steadfast actions towards finding a good college upon his graduation. Presumably most top schools had strict rules against educating monsters (What a large pile of rejection letters had described as "Inability to house wildlife". However he wasn't willing to spin around towards home and simply attend the local recluse community college, hidden well from the fearful human world.

No. He wasn't about to doom himself as another alumni of Dark Enchanted Woods U.

Not without a fight...well, not without resistance...not without a well thought out and thrice edited letter of grievance. Oh-ho, no indeed.

Of course, being the well-to-do student Reggie was, when entering the classroom setting, he remembered to press, fold and tuck away his future plans and worries, and prepared for the present. Then again, at the present moment, his ragged and tired body language begged to differ.

"Mr. Schneider, please let me ju-"

"It's fine Reggie, Gill told me you'd be late." Max reassured the wolfish youth. _"aaand_ no, this will not mar your permanent record." he added, cutting Reggie off before he could prod further questions and gratuitously beg for mercy. The teacher had a keen sixth-sense for predicting what his students would comment on or ask. The wolf-teen, for example, would most likely begin to reiterate his dire fear of an imperfection on his college application. Or whether the weekly (e and i) learning experience would be on the next exam.

Reggie huffed a sigh of relief, un-knotting his scarf from his neck and shoulders. Unlike the other students of Max's class, not only was he was endowed with a very gifted mind, but a coat of fur and a resistance to the cold weather. In fact, the only article of clothing he wore against the harsh winter elements, besides a scarf, was a royal blue sweater vest and a pair of hunter green corduroys.

As of last year he had stopped strictly wearing the clothes his mother had sent him. Though he never cared for fashion sense, a...social experiment, if you will, in apparel transformation within an adolescent setting fascinated him. Also, a formal tie, adorning a formal shirt and vest seemed less jejune (and pathetic) than a pocket protector and bow around his neck.

He fumbled with the flannel scarf, tenderly placing it on a nearby chair, still recovering from his run to the gym, and fear of consequence for his lack of punctuality. He didn't want to begin hyperventilating in front of everyone or succumbing to one of his past panic-attacks.

Especially not in front of Vinnie.

The vampire teen had once found him in the boy's bathroom, inhaling and exhaling into a paper bag, after he had misplaced a mid-term paper.

Reggie fondly remembered how he wasn't able to see much past the expanding and deflating brown sack, but he could just make out the approach of the raven-headed widow's peak and the pair of dramatized eyebrows, knit with concern against the alabaster forehead.

Never had he felt such an elemental collision of adolescent self-consciousness and saccharine happiness. Caught under the dry spotlight in such an agitated state and yet drowning in his shallow bliss that someone was there to catch him for once.

He remembered this distinctive feeling strengthen, when he felt a hand coaxingly move up and down the vertebra of his back. The bag's purpose was lost, as he crumbled the paper in his hands, and thanked his friend.

For some reason, after that day Reggie dropped the unnecessary 'Madam' or 'Sir' when addressing adults or authority figures.

"Schneeeeeider there's something going on with these plugs."

"Wrong outlet Frankentyke-WRONGOUTLETWAIT-"

The crackling jolt of electricity congregating with faulty wiring and Mr. Schneider hollering, sent perceptions back to the external world. However the hand from Reggie's memory remained in it's place on his back's middle, solidifying from fantasy.

Reggie half turned to meet a pair of enlightened vampire eyes.

"May I be so rude to ask what I've missed?" he enquired, making no effort to move away from Vinnie hand.

He looked around to see the majority of his class mates paired into groups of two and dispersed around the heart of the gym. The chairs, stationary in their orbit, were pushed off, away from the center.

"Ugh we're being tortured." J.P. rasped, half-scared of discourteously insulting Blanche, half-terrified of how she would react. Thankfully all she did was give his ear a sharp tug, but in doing so, pulled off the decayed thing entirely. Un-phased, she began daintily whispering harsh and threatening slurs into the wealthy boy's ear, her southern breeding preventing her from creating a lover's quarrel.

Reggie glanced at the chalkboard, beckoning the five-letter word 'Waltz' scratched on it's surface. He breathed a ghostly whisper of understanding.

"Oh boy."

The hand on his back slid up towards the nape of his neck, as he forced himself to turn and face it's owner.

"And I," Vinnie began as he snatched the wolf-boy paw, guiding him into a pirouetted spin. "Am about to show you some moves no book has ever gone before."

Arm outstretched, the only thing keeping him from collapsing was Vinnie's hand. Reggie's heart skipped a beat as he stared in a longingly apprehensive daze at the board.

"...Ummm actually," he said with a nervous grin, the room still spinning somewhat. "m-most books are quite...proficient and informa...tive...in...I can't dance."

"Welcome to the other giant per-cen-tile of the class." Vinnie said with a chuckle, linking arm and elbow with Reggie, ushering the lycanthrope to the middle floor. However Reggie gently pulled away, forcing himself to a practical distance.

"-I mean it. I REALLY can't dance." Reggie lightly reasoned, trying his best not to draw attention to himself, as the zombified southern bell had with her beau.

A poet would have compared their push and pull to the dissonant driving force of the tides, a fantastical performance of the earth's magnitude; erratic and infallible all at once. Wave and motion, enduring long before any romantic or theoretical acknowledgements; destined to hold fast to its eminence long after the fall of humanity, be it civilized or savage.

Duzer, casually looking on like any other envious teenage girl, thought Reggie was being totally wishy-washy. And why the heck didn't Vinnie go to such smooth lengths to get her on the dance floor? _Oh yeah, I'm teaching too _she reminded herself. _Still_, she mentally persisted the idea that she_ would have been more forward than Fluffy over there. She'd pull along any guy with such bravado and force, that their legs would sail behind them. _Like a kite on a string.

She sighed, forcing herself to look away and toward Gill's webbed hand he so sweetly offered.

She couldn't stay upset with either of the two. Not even for a quiet and selfish moment. Reggie was, after all, like an innocent little brother. She remembered the day he asked her for help in reforming his style.

She also remembered the speed and length at which she accompanied him to the nearest mall with the Blanche, Cleo and Sid (Sid insisted on joining them, as he commented on the specific styles Reggie tried on, much like a runway model commentator with a fake British accent. The girls had offered Sid help too, as social law dictated all men should wear pants, but the invisible youth didn't see much point in it for obvious reasons.).

Anyone could see that Reggie had taken a step in emerging from the authoritative rock he secured himself under. He broke away from the _my-mom-dresses-me_ fashion, to a more sophisticated, young adult look. Kind of preppy in Duzer's opinion, but anything was an improvement over the pocket-protector.

"Okay Gill, saddle up." She exclaimed, satisfied to take up the swamp monster's hand and pointed to an empty spot for him to properly stand.

Call it woman's intuition (Often foretold by her middle hair-snake quivering excitedly), but she just knew Vinnie would eventually get that 'were-wuss' to dance. They had...a way with each other...something like that. Vinnie was...well VINNIE STOKER after all. He always encouraged Reggie, or at least made his day a bit less dreary. In return, Reggie provided his own innate sense of loyalty and vast sea of knowledge...often, as it seemed, reserved especially for the vampire.

It was no secret. Out of all the people she would never admit that she had grown to love and care for in Schneider's class, those two had come to rely on each in more ways than anyone could imagine.

"So..." Reggie drew on, motioning away to safety alongside the vortex that was the edge of the gym floor. "-I'm just going to...ahem..." Peeling a segment of a nervous grin, a feigned laugh barely escaping his teeth, he thought to himself_ I have a feeling I'm not going to get out of this with my dignity intact _

Vinnie appeared to be absorbing the other teen thoughts, as Reggie stumbled through his supposedly liable protesting. The ghastly greaser nodded, chin nestled in the crutch of his palm, moving into classic contrapposto stance. His expression inert. Passive. Serious.

Wait._ Too_ serious.

Taking up an old habit, Reggie began to massage his middle knuckle-bone between his clawed fingertips, as he turned from the imposing vampire. Before he could take flight, a voice imprisoned the werewolf in mid-step.

"Uh-uh-uh, Reg... Reggie-STAY. Staaaay..."

Whether the voice had harkened instincts of loyalty, deep within the recesses of his animal consciousness, or some enchantment this Prince of the Night cast over his sorry soul was to blame, Reggie could do nothing but slump his shoulders and sigh in defeat.

A swagger in his gliding step, Vinnie rounded the reluctant werewolf, bending softly to look him in the face at eye level, again taking up the stance of the famed statue of David.

_Picturing him naked won't help._

He waited till Reggie's eyes met his, only to break composure into a teasingly jagged grin, hands at his hips_-Oh no, he doing the eyebrow thing. _Reggie's mind yelped.

"Good boy." Vinnie finally spoke, as he gave the now docile werewolf a scruffy stroke on the head, his fingers entwining in Reggie's flame-orange locks. The werewolf, the shorter of the two looked away, then back with a wry grin as a black varnished thumb nail traced over his frames, brushing aside any ginger fringes, once obscuring his vision. He'd be upset and embarrassed if the weight of the vamp's hand on the head didn't feel so coaxing

He looked up to meet the vampire's deep black eyes, within which, Reggie swore, flickered an eternally dying, yet existent red flame.

"C'mon Reg, if you don't help me out, you won't be the only one stuck with a chair," the vampire foretold, un-knitting his fingers from Reggie hair, waving a hand dramatically. "Or worse, Frankentyke..."

"Vinnie," he began boldly enough, almost standing to full height "It's not that I don't WANT to...I'm just..." he trailed. Truth be told, he saw nothing terrible about _'the idea_' of dancing with 'The Almighty Vinnie Stoker'. In fact he had seen nothing wrong with they're entire friendship. However the fact remained that he was reggie-the-small-meek-and-rigid. Dancing wouldn't change, but only strengthen this fact.

Damn Organisational Cynicism. Why he had ever formed those philosophical clubs was beyond his notion. As well as other indeterminable questions...

Why Vinnie preferred to be around him more often than their peers, despite his immense popularity? Why he would call Reggie's name out in public place to chat, or sit with him, sometimes without anything in particular to talk about, were mysteries Reggie couldn't decipher.

_Why was he NOW questioning this? Just what__ is__ thi-Earth to Reggie! BACK TO THE PRESENT!_

He did have one answer, a perfectly good excuse in his own opinion, as to why he wasn't able to dance.

"Ihavepersonalspaceissues." The wolfish boy said in one flat breath, removing his glasses, to polish their lenses of any smudges, in a very no-nonsense-this-conversation-has-ended manner.

"Oh really..." a unexpected voice from behind whispered, warming the shell of Reggie's pointed ear. In less than a single beat of his drumming pulse, the vampire had shadowed behind him, causing him to jostle his thick glasses, as if they had a life of their own. The soft downy fur on his neck and shoulders bristled as a hand wrapped around his torso and pulled him toward the solid frame behind him.

Vinnie never made it his absolute intention to scare the edgy werewolf, or make him uncomfortable in any manner. The very beginning of their friendship they barely made eye contact or spoke, unless it was to fulfil an end to an academic means.

Yet they had grown past that strained teenage self-centeredness, and somehow found another person standing there.

(It was Reggie who had fallen asleep over a heap of library books, while helping the un-dead teen research the basics of teleportation. A very difficult power in itself to master at such a young age. Mere parlor tricks now, thanks to his scholarly wolf boy.._.not that Reggie was his to claim for himself or nothin'...but..._)

The fledgling blood sucker could not defy his need to try a hand at...liberating his friend from his own self-shaped formalities, every now and then.

In other words playfully mess with Reggie, who needed to lighten up a tad bit.

For example: Vinnie had innocently slunk behind Reggie, taken a hold of his captive friend's claw, and pulled him into a tight embrace from behind.

"Hey, personal space I'm Vinnie." He politely introduced himself, cooing into the stunned Reggie's ear. "Nice weather, eh?"

To Reggie, the universe suddenly became an impressionist painting, if not for a small breathless moment. Not because of his obscured vision, as he was without his glasses, or because the vampire's hand was compressing Reggie's slight frame to his (Though the latter silently contributed).

But rather it was because of that odd, wonderful and dizzying feeling, one would often derive from the aesthetic beauty of all things once merely imagined. Even after placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"Ugh I think we're FINALLY ready guys." Their teacher declared, covered in a layer of black soot, caused by the wild electrical currents. Frankentyke, who had a found ingenuity with electrical devices, a trait he picked up from his father, had substituted the partially fried extension cord, with some gum, tape, and copper wire he found in his matted wig. When the day came that Frankentyke could correctly turn an object on, without causing property damage of any form, the instructor would deem him a mechanical wiz.

"Please Reg?" Vinnie pleaded, releasing the werewolf, who felt his cheeks cool, and then simmer again as the vampire looked him directly in the eye.

"Well..."

"Everyone in place?" Max amplified from across the gym, as he opened his copy of _'The Blue Danube & Many More Silly Waltzes_'. "We'll be ready to start in approximately 10 seconds." Their teacher calculated, tossing the tape over his shoulder to Frankentyke.

Reggie adjusting his footing, squaring his shoulders to meet Vinnie's eyes, ravelling together his choice words. "Just, please be certain to say something if I step on your foot."

Vinnie, who was able to understand awkward-nervous-werewolf, translated this into 'Sure, lets cut a rug!' A fanged grin streaked across his face, as the rebellious vamp politely gestured his partner into position.

Max pressed play.

A ribbon of sweet horns and haunting strings floated through the air, as the classical Austrian composition began. The music held it's listeners for a moment. Dance teachers recalling their learned steps and captured a familiar beat. Light murmurs bubbled around the dancing pairs, as they began to shift, moving into slow and uncertain swirls around the gym.

"-First things first Le Goo- erm...Gill. Put your hand on my-"

"-hip, and **absolutely** no. Where. Else. We clear Sid? AND if your hand so much as-"

"-slides back, and then youh foot comes foh-ward. Oh mah! JP, why didn't you say you were so light on your-"

"-webbed toes, sorry! 'm, like, not used to boots yet. Heh, really only good for surfing the coasts of-"

"-an eclectic celebration of the dance Cleo! You do Fosse Fosse Fosse Fosse Fosse! You do Martha Graham Martha Graham Martha Graham, or-"

"-else I was going to have to find some other means of entertainment. Anyway my parents simply _bought_ the island, inhabited it with the more...eh...incompetent help, and every holiday we hunt them down for sport."

With time and measure, the frigid anxiety that once froze the drafty gym's tundra, thawed from the permeating music of the two dynamic instrumental opposites.

"You've got to loosen up a little more Reg. Kindah...sway into it, yeah?"

"Mm-hm..."

Vinnie was a boy quite dexterous in motion, proving so as he playfully fumbled Reggie's cupped palm, while remaining in sync with the music. The press of fingers urged the wolf boy to look up from his feet, which he had, till then, been boring holes into, counting his steps.

He lost count when he looked his dance partner in the face.

It would have been one thing, accidently stomping on Vinnie's foot, but Reggie instead totally halted in place as his body met with the vampire's. Of course they weren't the only pair in the room to blunder their steps, nor were they supervised under the callous judgement of others. Cleo had been amplifying demerits towards her unseen dance partner, while J.P. could be overheard grumbling.

The werewolf had been distracting himself, busy with equating the force between two moving objects, and numbering steps. It was more than just reactions to noise in motion. And when one object would collide...press against another, even for a fraction of a second, logic seemed to dissolve...thus left a little vulnerable. One was reminded of the differences between objects and individuals, capable of responding to contact at unique free will. He had relied on logic alone until he meet Vinnie.

Reggie, quick to apologise with a "Pardo-erm...sorry..." distanced himself, his hand still folded within Vinnie's.

Vinnie only smiled warmly, which to a human, would appear rather frightful. "Another rule about dancing. You've gotta be a bit more creative y'know." he said as he pulled Reggie's waist toward himself in one secure tug. "Daring."

Reggie prepared himself to shrink sheepishly away, but then felt the settling comfort within his...their shared space and the gentle sway of motion.

Though Vinnie lacked the ability to generate body heat, Reggie could sense some tacit warmth lingering from him. Everyone knew the vampire would most often sip Red Cross pouches to sustain existence, while still sampling the grotesque cuisine all the monsters of Gravedale High regularly enjoyed. Only Reggie knew that whenever the urge to rose, Vinnie would feed on a human.

Perhaps it wasn't the life-force the vampire drained from some unfortunate mortal, now coursing through his body, that drew Reggie in. Rather it was the youth behind it, who had found console in Reggie, after occasionally sapping several abnormally healthy persons, within inches of their lives.

"Daring you say?" Reggie replied, lightly crinkling the bridge of his wolfen snout above a rare amused grin. He then not only surprised Vinnie, but himself by lacing the fingers of his clenched paw with the vampire's. Reggie felt much bolder as the music's slow and seductive tempo intensified. He was pleased to feel warmth between his knuckles.

Vinnie had witnessed, as the two grew closer in years, that Reggie had cast off his timid shroud every so often, laughing unashamed with Vinnie whenever rules needed...er...uncertified unofficial adjustments.

Like the time a certain gym coach (A decayed jerk long overdue for a pranking), entered his office, only to charge headlong into a cloud of perfume. The reeking stench of Vanilla and Violets took days for the administrator to sweat off. All the while, the sole evidence that the bull-headed Coach Cadaver retained was an oversized perfume mister lodged behind his door.

He never took the patience to appreciate the spring deploy of the device, launched upon the opening of the door, as Reggie later explained, fairly proud of his handy-work(And the fact that they got away with their prank Scott-free). After setting up the trap they spent the night soaking their hands in rotten tomato juice in order to snuff-out any trace scents of their crime.

It was worthwhile. Vinnie was happy to see his shining influence taking an effect on Reggie, and returned the lycanthrope's subtle challenge.

Vinnie wished he had a camera to capture the look on Reggie's face as he rotated his palm, creeping his fingertips along and gently bracing the werewolf's rear end.

This wide eyed shock was not meant to last, as Reggie was quite through with caution for one morning. He responded with a two-can-engage-at-this-activity smile.

You would have to be born yesterday to not see Reggie was both brilliant and a fast learner. Few knew he was also capable of enjoying himself as well.

His dormant hand, supported by Vinnie's shoulder, slide up toward the ivory column of his bare neck in one cheeky fell swoop. Vinnie internally shuddered as the padded palm, softened with warmth, just barely grazed his neck along the hem of his leather jacket. Reggie suddenly raised his and Vinnie's hand up high, as he broke their organized path with a side-step. He circled Vinnie like a maypole, the knuckles of his free hand tracing the vampire's back.

"We barely cover one lesson and your already improvi-zing." Vinnie chortled as the werewolf returned to his front. He hoped Reggie didn't catch the hint of his Transylvanian accent. It became somewhat diluted as he got older, but still managed to slip into his dialogue.

"You did instruct me to be more creative." he responded bracing Vinnie's hand tightly. Extending an arm, he pulled away, only to spin back again into the vampire's arms. Vinnie, firmly seizing Reggie about his back, gently lowered him into a dip.

"You guys call _that_ dancing." called out Cleo from across the gym. Their flashes of exuberant movement had caught the attention of others."Watch a pro show you how it's done." She said, assertively rolling the bandages of her arms up and clasping her dance partner by his invisible forearms. "C'mere Sid."

Mustering her astonishing strength, she lifted and spun the surprised invisible lad up from his aching feet, well stomped on from one too many 'creative' moves he attempted on the mummified girl.

"My...Cleo's quite...competitive?" Reggie commented as he remained suspended three feet above the ground in mid-dip. Vinnie's face hovered above his own, looking off into the distance, haloed by the off-green Gym lights.

"If Cleo is the Fred Astaire of dance, then I'm the Marlon Brando." Sid cried out, while spun above Cleo's head, landing deftly with a Charleston jig. "Early years, of course..."

"Oh yeah? Well then I'm the John Travolta of dancin'." Vinnie shouted back. He met eyes with Reggie, pulling him up to his feet, swerving him into a paced glide. "C'mon lets go steppin'."

A spark had been ignited, as the students were no longer content with the simple shuffling of their learned and traditional dance style.

Soon enough, the entire class bounded into their own unorganized and individual movements, unique patterns and motions unconsciously reflecting the dynamic music's pace. Laughter fluttered and foot steps intensified, as the ghoulish teens twirled, stamped and jumped. Duzer and Gill darted by, cheek to cheek, each lead by an outstretched arm in Tango. Cleo gave Sid another herculean whirl, while he clicked his heels and tapped his feet.

Reggie and Vinnie waltzed the same way they had begun. Dizzy, uncertain and moving faster and faster.

Absolutely perfect.

Gripping both hands, Vinnie spun the werewolf around, crossing their arms across Reggie's frame.

"And you thought you couldn't dance." he purred into Reggie's ear, swaying their hips from side to side. Reggie didn't answer, but slowly slunk around to face Vinnie without unknotting from his embrace. He didn't mind how dangerously low the Vampire's hands were on his back.

"-um wait a second...Blanche that dip was clearly Latino. Guys I-this is not Salsa...and be CAREFUL with JP he only has so many bones. Hello?" Max called from the sidelines trying his best to intervene as his dancers went native. "Think promenade. Think European Aristocra- Gill this is not a Hoe-Down...guys?"

Max sighed scratching his head. He turned to see his DJ Frankentyke, free of concern, happily headbanging, and punching the air with every beat. He smiled, glad to see all of his students enjoying themselves.

He couldn't wait till the song ended to inform them that while they had been dancing, six feet of snow had piled up outside the Gym. Meaning they were all trapped for another couple of hours.

It's a good thing he was well prepared. After all, he had a copy of the soundtrack to 'The Time Warp and other Broadway Showtunes'.

The End

_We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. _

_**Japanese Proverb**_


End file.
